


Too Much, Too Little

by 316_frogs



Category: Love Simon (2018)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, Gen, His parents are replaced with incredibly homophobic ppl, Homophobia, I very much projected and made a super dark story for this light and happy tale, Rape of a Minor, Simon's sister and Leah are not mentioned at all, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, conversion therapy, i dont know why, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/316_frogs/pseuds/316_frogs
Summary: Please read the tags. If Simon's parents were very homophobic and forced him to conversion therapy.Spoiler: It doesn't go well.





	Too Much, Too Little

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. Another warning, please do not read this if you know it will trigger you. Take care of yourselves, friends.

Marvin did it. He really did it. He had no right. But he did it anyways and anyone could see. Everyone had seen it. The emails were only proven to be his by Marvin’s word that he could easily deny, but it’s 2017, being gay isn’t shameful. It’s not bad to be gay. His family wasn’t homophobic and his school wasn’t overly so either. After Simon had calmed down from his initial panic attack, he breathed. He could manage. He eyed his phone, filled with his best friends’ reactions. He sighed and rolled over onto his bed, collapsing into slumber. He had meant to reply the next day, but the next day became the next week and then school was back, with no communication with any of his friends. 

The first day of school back Simon wondered how the day would go. He hopped in the car and drove to the normal pick up spot. No one came out. He waited for as long as he could but no one came. He had to leave before he was late. So with an empty and restless heart, he sped to school, swimming in uncomfortable silence. He rushed in, too determined to not be late than to notice the stares and whispers. He reached his class, barely on time. He sat in his usual seat, got out his usual materials and just sat. It was his normal routine but something felt off. His friends were also in the class but he didn’t attempt to meet with them. He felt a weight settle in his gut when they carried on without him. But it was fine, he was fine. 

The day passed by until lunch. He got his tray feeling oddly silent. He wasn’t used to such a social stigma around him, but it surrounded him like a stench. He looked over the tables, seeing his friends. He began to walk without knowing where he was going, he briefly considered going to his friends but his old girlfriend asked him:

“Did you date me because I look like a guy?” Simon wasn’t even going to get into all the level of that, but simply he put:

“No, I broke up with you because you don’t look like a guy.” She seemed happier and sat down, slightly miffed. He glanced at his friends’ table once more, finding all the seat filled and more than a few glancing at him. He scanned the room and sat down at the nearest open table. Just eat and get through today. That’s all he had to do. 

Then those two assholes came in. In some sort of costume designed to be him and Ethan, they got up on a table, enacting what they thought was gay flirting. They shouted all sorts of things and the gestures were obscene. Simon had wanted to just keep his down but this made his blood boil. He stood up and walked over. Putting on his best brave face,

“Do you have something you want to say to me?!” They took a breath to reply but a savior in the form of a teacher came in and gave them the verbal beating of their lives. Soon enough the scene was over and Simon and Ethan found themselves sitting in the office. The two assholes apologized with their tails between their legs and scampered off.

* * *

When his friends finally hunted him down for explanations, he gave them. They didn’t care. How could they not care? His entire identity rode on what that jackass did and they only cared about dating each other. How could they? He had known them for over 13 years and they don’t care about him.

* * *

When he had come out to his family, there had been a lot of screaming. Mainly his mother. She was a devout stay at home Christian mother. Some of Simon’s favorite lines were:

“How can you do this to your family?!”  
“I don’t know where we went wrong.”  
“This is what we get for letting our son become an actor. Now’s he’s a sexual deviant!”

But the scariest ones weren’t the loudest. They were the soft, thoughtful ones coming from his father’s bias. His mother’s were emotional reactions but his father’s were action plans, ones that were all too real.

“Gays go to hell. Son, you are gay but you don’t have to be.”  
“This is a temporary lapse in judgement. He’ll see the right way soon.”  
“We’re going to have to take the right actions to keep you from continuing this.” 

He kept his head down, silently allowing tears to fall, nodding so that his punishment might be lessened. When the shouting was nearly over, he was drained in emotion and tears. Simon walked up the stairs as a lifeless corpse, not caring to hear plans of therapy that made his stomach twist. 

He fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next day was Sunday. He only wished for isolation from his family but come 7AM they hauled him off the church. He threw up before they left and felt like he would do so again as they approached the building. They sat for the service with Simon dead to the world. It ended at nine and then the family approached the head priest.

“Excuse me, Pastor John? We’re in need of your services.” The jolly man turned.

“Of course, Mrs. Spier. Shall we head to a prayer room?” And so they were led into the ant tunnels of the church, each step churning his breakfast. They arrived in a small room, decorated sparsely with crosses and altars. They sat and he addressed them,

“What can I do for the Spier family?” His father spoke up,

“We need you to help us with Simon here.” John looked to him with interest.

“Oh?”

“He believes he’s gay.” And with that the open curiosity sharpened to a cutting glare, assessing the boy.

“I see. And why do you require me? Surely you know of what must be done to ensure he is not damned?” 

“Generally, we did not think this would be a problem. But we need specifics to go off of, how can we stop this?”

“Well, obviously Simon has just made a terrible mistake in assessing his identity. Isn’t that right Simon?” At suddenly being addressed, he was ripped back into reality. His mind was in a whirlwind, this couldn’t be real. But for his answer, what should he say? Be honest and risk whatever horror they might inflict? He vividly remembered the stories of gay kids abused by ‘conversion therapy’. Or lie and pretend to be straight as he had been for all his life. 

“Of course.” He had on his best movie star smile and delivered the line that would impact the rest of his life. But of course, he was never the main actor for a reason. The pastor squinted, spotting the lie a mile away. His mother acted first.

“You lie! Pastor you must believe us, last night he said to us with a smile he was gay!” The pastor held up a hand, still gazing into the downcast eyes of Simon.

“I understand. This can be scary, especially for confused youths. But do you see what becomes of our children if we allow them to continue down this path? First sex and lies then what? Murder? Though in the early stages, he is not necessarily damned. Simon just needs some guidance, away from other influences.” The line struck a cold fear into his blood. He gasped a soft ‘no’ looking to his parents in fear. He didn’t recognize them anymore, monsters had taken their place. 

“And what do you recommend?” The pastor stroked his chin, seemingly thinking of ways to best torture Simon.

“Conversion therapy is always a great method. I have a few choice names in the area. Doctor Hawly in particular is very thorough.” Simon thought he could feel his lunch coming back up again as his parents took the information of the doctor and left with smiles. 

“You’ll be better soon.” The whole experience echoed around in his head, ricocheting trying to find a spot where his situation might stick.

* * *

He didn’t go to school the next day. Or the next. Every day he was forced to go to a woman with a smile far too wide who’s main phrase was to pray the gay away. It was always uncomfortable talking with the doctor but it didn’t get really weird until he started the hypnosis. 

Simon was made to put headphones on. They blocked all outside noise and whispered about the allure of the female form. He was made to watch scantily clad women on an old TV while chained down. He tried not to look but the doctor was a fan of corporal punishment. They simply weren’t attractive, but alongside the women were more enticing men. Men who made his penis erect. The doctor then grabbed Simon’s boner and began to give him a hand job. He started but still forced the watch the TV which all the men suddenly disappeared from. A woman whispered into his ear as he was brought to climax. She let go and he breathed hard. 

“You bitch.” He spat. She slapped him. 

“This is for your own good. You need to associate sexual pleasure with a woman to heal your illness.”

“I’m not sick, I’m gay and you’re raping a minor.”

“I’m fixing a broken child.”

* * *

He went back to school a week after his outing. The whispers were still there but he didn’t care anymore. He walked through his classes as a dead man. The glazed stare and fading bruises elicited more than a few worried glances.

After school, Simon made his way to play practice. He sought out the director as everyone else milled about.

“Hello Simon, it’s been a while since you’ve been here, what’s going on?” 

“I’m sorry about this, director, but I have to quit.” It was a practiced line that barely made it through his teeth.

“You can’t quit! Simon we need you dancing!” Her lighted glare bore into his dead eyes, achieving no effect. Not much could bother him anymore.

“I’m not allowed to do anything after school. Again, I apologize but I was just informing you, good-bye.” He began to turn. Now, concerned she started,

“Simon, is everything okay at home?” He stopped, staring into nothing, completely unaware of the bystanders listening in. Unaware of Abby gazing at him with an indiscernible expression.

“Of course. Thank you for your concern but I must go.” And like a robot he marched out. A puppet on strings. The director watched him leave, only refocusing when the door behind him closed. 

“Okay, people! We’re down a lead dancer! Ricardo, come over here, you’re replacing Simon.” And with that the practice resumed. But Abby was stuck on that mourning face of her new friend.

* * *

“Hey, babe, how was practice last night?”

“Good… Hey do you know what’s going on with Simon?”

“I know he wasn’t at school last week but that’s it. I get that we have our fights sometimes but this is going on for way too long.”

“I agree. The last time we talked was over a month ago, and have you seen those bruises?”

“I have but Simon does bruise easy. He might have taken a tumble.”

“But what if something’s wrong? Like really wrong? Are his parents homophobic?”

“I-I don’t know. They’re pretty traditional.”

“I’m really worried about him. He came to practice today saying he wasn’t allowed to come anymore. The look in his eye was scary.”

“What? Not allowed? That’s really weird. And what was up with his eyes?”

“Nothing but they just seemed so, so dead. Like he wasn’t there, wasn’t Simon.”

* * *

Everyone told him if he stayed gay he would go to hell but it felt like he was already there, because he was gay. But that wasn’t right. Being gay wasn’t a bad thing, it just got a lot of people to do bad things to him.   
Simon had been doing a lot of thinking about heaven, hell and the afterlife recently. Just what level of hell would be get sent to if he was gay? If he killed his rapist? If he committed suicide?

Now that he was more or less isolated he had lots of time at school to ponder such questions. Each day the pounding thoughts became worse. He slowly chewed his sandwich, melting into his mind.

“Simon? Can we talk?” His old friends sat down around him. He chewed absently, nodding. 

“Is everything okay, Simon? We’re worried about you.” Simon briefly considered telling the truth that he was being raped and abused with no end in sight. He considered trusting his age old friends, friends who threw him out like yesterday’s trash for trying to avoid the shitshow he was in now. 

“Everything’s fine.” The friends gave each other glances.

“Why did your parents force you to quit the play?”

“I’m focusing on my studies.”

“What about those bruises, Si? Where did they come from?” The question was directed at the colored spots lightly decorating his body. Simon pulled down his sleeves.

“I don’t know why you’d care.”

“Simon what is this! We’re your friends! We’ve known you since forever, please, trust us.”

“Look if you’d really like to know, I’ve been living in hell for the past month and where were you all? Some friends alright.” He spat out his distaste and picked up his tray, going to the trash and leaving his friends behind. They looked between themselves. Leah spoke up,

“I think he’s being abused or something.” The others nodded in grim understanding.

“But who should we tell? We might risk making it worse for him if we do something stupid.”

* * *

Simon had no hope in life. He did not have friends. He did not have family. He did not know love or joy, they had taken that away with Blue and any privacy he might have had. He had no future, his parents would only pay tuition if he were straight. He was out of weapons and armor in a meat suit surrounded by wolves. Giving up sounded better each day. 

Actually doing it wouldn’t be so hard, simply overdose on some drugs, fashion a noose, jump, shoot or cut himself. It was all too easy and opportunities were everywhere. But he was having trouble justifying it. Just last year he was fine, who knows if next year it’ll all be different? But a little voice inside of him whispered no, it’s all downhill from here. It’s only going to get worse the longer he waits. 

So Simon trudges his way through life, sparing all his energy to fight against the torture to strip him of his identity, hoping for any sign that life gets better. 

It doesn’t. 

He sets a date.

February 14, 2018. One week away.

He pets his dog, wondering if she knows he will soon die.

* * *

Every day is surreal, going through the motions he has gone through a thousand times, knowing that these will be the last times he does so. On his chalkboard walls, he counts down to valentine's day instead of graduation. Each day that it comes closer, he feels lighter, happier, more free than he’s been in a long time. 

Simon doesn’t flinch at yelling anymore. No one notices that, or his dark circles nestled beneath his eyes. They don’t notice how his eyes linger on the knife at lunch, wondering if he should just get on with it now. They don’t notice him on valentine’s day taking in all the decorations of the schooling, knowing it will be his last day there. While leaving, he walks slower, as if hoping somehow someone will stop him. 

No one does.

He drives to the gun store and buys a used pistol with 10 free rounds, hassle-free.

* * *

Simon drives home in silence, uncomfortably aware of the metal weight in his lap and its implications. 

He goes in, with his hidden items in hand. Immediately he is met with yelling (“WHY ARENT YOU AT THERAPY”.) He runs upstairs and locks the door, in a few minutes the threats stop. 

He sits down at his desk, empty from a confiscated computer. He takes a piece of paper and considers what to write.

Dear Everyone,

I was just like you. I had a loving family and friends. I enjoyed life and was excited for the future. I had just one secret. I’m gay. 

My world came crumbling down when I got outed, so thanks Michael. My friends abandoned me. My parents abused me and sent me to hell, or should I say therapy. I was raped several times by Dr. Hawly over the course of less than two months. This life isn’t worth living. 

I’m sorry Blue. 

Love,  
Simon.

Incredibly basic, but it did the job. He set the utensils down and turned to the bag filled with his demise. He took out the pistol and rubbed the rusted metal. 

It’ll be over soon. 

But not now. 

Not yet. 

He wanted to watch his favorite movie just once more, be happy once more and then he would die.

* * *

Halfway through the film, the doorbell rang. He didn’t think much of it. 

A few moments later his room was stormed by police, who quickly confiscated the gun and his only hope of freedom. He was forced into cuffs, which activated his very real fears elicited from his experiences with Dr. Hawly. He was forced out of the house and into a police car, family and neighbors watching. Once secured inside the car he noticed his old friends standing by the side of the road, watching anxiously. It was all a blur. A one moment there was shouting. At another, dead silence. 

The next few days he would have memory gaps for years to come. But he would have those years, which extended to decades. He lived, bitch.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at like 1am when I first saw the movie, so I hope you got something out of my sleep deprived angst. And that last sentence is a reference to that one post about the stepdad who got surgery and had that text? Idk I'm tired. Comment, give me kudos, lmk what you thought.
> 
> Also, if you're in a situation like in this story or are considering suicide, please reach out and stay alive.  
> 1-800-273-8255 - suicide prevention line  
> 800.656.HOPE (4673) - sexual abuse line


End file.
